


Arrowhead

by orphan_account



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, F/M, Not Beta Read, infrequent updates bc school, updated most fridays
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-18
Updated: 2014-08-16
Packaged: 2018-02-09 09:23:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1977606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>District 14 was a bleak place, but it at least wasn't fully integrated into Panem. While that meant heavily-armed Peacekeepers surrounding the area, it also meant no Hunger Games. But every parent and child knew that each year spent just observing the games could be their last. And when the inevitable occurred, nobody knew what would happen inside of the arena. As everyone in the district already knew, where the supernatural was involved, werewolf and otherwise, anything was possible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

District 14 was shielded on three sides by a barren mountain range. Its soil was too poor to support any crops, and there was never enough food for every person, let alone any extra for livestock. The people mainly lived off of the few fish caught from the ocean nearby and whatever they could get from the traders that passed through on their way to District 12, where there apparently was a flourishing black market.

Because of the destitution of the land, its inhabitants kept the worry that Panem would invade in the back of their minds. That, and of course the fact that a little more than a quarter of the population weren’t completely human all of the time. Werewolves were what made up most of the supernatural community, although there was also a werecoyote, a kitsune, and for a while a kanima. There were a few emissaries and a banshee as well, but they were far less noticeable than the rest.

Some people said that the only reason that Panem was able to take over was because nobody truly expected it. Scott thought that they were delusional. How can you rely on a bunch of omegas without an alpha to bind them together to defeat an army of Peacekeepers? His mother sadly laughed a little whenever he told her, in those short moments between when Melissa’s shift at the healers ended and Scott’s at the factory started.

Scott had been only a year and a half old when the men and women in white uniforms came, slaughtering mercilessly until they had forced their opponents to surrender. Ever since then District 14 had been estranged from Panem, technically a part but surrounded by more Peacekeepers than any other district and not participating in country-wide events, like the Hunger Games.

The rumor that Scott had heard was that once there were enough people between the ages of twelve and eighteen they would be forced to participate. When they were conquered, Scott had been one of the two children in the district. Fifteen years passed and the population had nearly tripled until four hundred people lived there, just a fraction of any of the other districts. There were sixty under the age of eighteen, thirty four male and twenty six female. Each year the few parents prayed that they would only be forced to watch the games, a dark reminder of what was to come.

About an hour before sunrise Scott woke up on the lumpy mattress in the corner of the McCall’s main room. He blearily sat up and walked past the television, the only fully functional thing in the house, to the sink, splashing freezing water onto his face. Even with his mother having a middle-class job and him skipping school to work in the nuclear factory, two salaries were barely enough to keep them alive let alone enough to be able to live in one of the better houses closer to the center of the district.

Considerably more awake, the boy lit a nearly-gone candle and made his way towards the old dresser blocking sight of the bed. He stopped at the table, noticing a lump wrapped in waxy brown paper, presumably left there by his mother before she had gone to work. He opened it up and found a dense piece of bread made from the coarse grains shipped from the Capitol to sell in the marketplace. He roughly shoved it into his mouth, grateful. It wasn’t often that he was able to eat before heading to the factory. He knew the only reason for it was because the screen being set up in the center of the marketplace made everyone a little uneasy. He would receive treats like this every year, as if his mother was trying to soften the blow of watching twenty three boys and girls die.

He completed the few steps to the dresser, pulling on his tattered uniform. It had been an easy decision for the President to move nuclear production to District 14 when he had found out about it. Who better to deal with radioactive material than werewolves whose bodies would reject anything harmful? And after the disaster that was District 13, Panem was in need of a new location to craft nuclear weaponry.

Dressed, Scott checked the cracked clock on the wall over the stove. It read 4:47, although Scott knew that it was only approximate (the minute hand had a tendency to get stuck).

“Crap,” he muttered as he ran outside, half of the slice of bread still crammed into his mouth. He ate it as he ran to work, determined to be there before five so that his pay wouldn’t be cut. He was already sweaty when he got there and that coupled with the tension about the games made him sure before even opening the heavy metal doors that it wasn’t going to be a good day.

He straggled home from work at dusk, walking slowly through the nearly-abandoned streets. It was normally livelier, with children playing games in the dirt as their parents looked on, checking the time every few minutes so that they would be in by curfew. Ever since the marketplace had started to be built up for the games, though, the Peacekeepers ventured further into the district than their pride would normally allow. Everyone tended to stay in their homes as much as they could to guarantee their own safety.

As he reached the group of shacks that was his neighborhood the dusty road was illuminated by slivers of light peering out from between planks of poorly-built walls. The boy quickened his pace, knowing that he’d soon be able to sleep.

He shut the door as quietly as he could before going over to wake his mother up. She had to be at the apothecary by nine, and it was already eight-thirty. Scott traded spots with her, lying down on the rough canvas bedding. Both of the McCalls were used to the schedule, work with no time for anything else. Sundays were the one day they had leisure time, Scott only having half a day’s work and Melissa having none at all. The boy, still in his dirty uniform, barely registered the thought that there were only three more days until he would have the morning off before falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.

He was startled awake by the sound of Panem’s anthem blaring loudly from the television sitting across from him. He propped himself up on one arm, thinking to himself how convenient it was that whenever the Capitol had something important to say the district magically got electricity for an hour or so.

President Snow’s face appeared on the screen, surrounded by Peacekeepers in a show of power, and Scott grew more serious. District 14 only saw speeches made by the President on the day of the Reaping when they stood together in the marketplace. An event like this was unheard of. Scott sat up fully and rested his feet on the floor, wary of what was to come.

“Our great nation has never been more unified than now. It brings me great joy every day to see the Capitol and the districts working together, providing for each other, speaking with one voice. Bound together we are strengthened, and we will now stand more together than ever. It is a great honor for me to announce that from this point onwards, all districts will be competing in the annual Hunger Games, including District 14.” Snow smiled, but only his mouth moved. “Have a happy, happy Hunger Games.”

The screen showed Panem’s insignia along with the words “Panem Today, Panem Tomorrow, Panem Forever” before going blank. The buzz of electricity coursing through the district vanished. Scott sat on the bed in silence, suddenly feeling trapped in his dirty uniform. He could hear shouts from outside and had half a mind to join in but knew that it would be more dangerous for him than it would be for anyone else in the surrounding houses. Peacekeepers as a general rule were more sadistic towards wolves, and he already could be punished at any moment for avoiding school to work in the factories.

He was still sitting on the mattress when the door burst open, smacking the wall next to it with a loud bang that made Scott jump. His mother rushed in to sit next to him and wrapped her arms around him. He leaned into her but sat rigidly, still in shock.

“What are we going to do?”

Melissa pulled back a little so that he could see her face and forced a strained smile before replying, “Pick out our best clothes for tomorrow. Hope that you don’t get reaped. And,” her smile became more genuine, “Count the days until the Capitol falls.”

Rebellion had always been an idea that was prevalent in District 14, plans whispered in dark corners so many times that some people actually started to believe that it could happen, but most everyone knew that it wasn’t even remotely possible. They couldn’t even defend their land when they were free, how were they supposed to gain independence from such a heavy-handed government?

Still, Scott smiled a little and clutched his mother’s arm around him tighter, ignoring the chaos of the screams and gunfire outside. They sat like that until dawn’s light illuminated the room, whispering meaningless things in an attempt to reassure one another that everything would be okay.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> President Snow's speech was heavily influenced by the promotional video for Mockingjay, "Unity". You can find the video on The Hunger Games's facebook page.  
> As of now this will only be ten chapters, but I've undoubtedly forgotten something important that will make it longer and disjointed. Oh well.  
> Thank you for reading!


	2. Chapter Two

Scott was exhausted as he stood inside of the roped-in area with all of the other teenagers. They were divided by age, so he stood next to the only other sixteen year old, Lydia Martin. She looked much better than he did, her lips stained pink with berry juice and her hair braided around her head in a crown. Still, she was tense and wouldn’t look at anyone. Scott didn’t mind. Lydia lived in the middle ring of the district, not in the center of town but far from where he lived. He didn’t know her well at all.

He could smell fear in the crowd. Parents and children and sisters and brothers and friends all scared. There was an underlying scent of anger, too. Two innocent children were going to be paraded around like livestock for the Capitol to applaud before being sent into an arena to die. If the district had any chance at surviving, there would be riots.

Scott felt his claws cutting into his hands. They had clenched into fists without him noticing. He shook his head and looked around for something to distract him. What he saw didn’t help. There were twelve year olds holding hands and crying and two girls who were a year apart kissing each other across the rope barrier separating them. Whenever Scott watched the reapings he could see anger and desperation in the crowds of impoverished districts, but this was different. Even District 12, the second poorest district after 14, had eight thousand people. Even without the tesserae being involved in the drawing, it wasn’t like he was one of two hundred children who could be reaped. He was one of twenty two. The girls had it even worse, with only sixteen between the ages of twelve and eighteen.

Next to him there was a group of children playing with each other, none older than five. Their parents hovered over them nervously. The kids didn’t understand in the least what was going on and their parents were trying their hardest to keep it that way.

Finally, Scott directed his attention towards the stage. There were three chairs in the corner, all taken. The closest to the center of the stage held a dark-skinned woman with bright blue eyelids. Her black hair was straight, but sculpted up somehow. As she turned to talk to the mayor, a stoutly man occupying the middle chair, Scott felt like he’d been punched in the stomach. Her hair was shaped to look like a wolf howling. As Scott looked over to the last chair he realized he wasn’t the only one to have seen the Capitol woman’s hair. A man sat with his arms crossed, his face tight and looking like at any moment he could spring up and punch someone.

In the center of the stage there was a microphone, picking up snippets of the crowd’s voices. On either side of it were glass bowls filled with pieces of paper. Scott had watched the Reaping enough times to know what they were. Each slip had a name, waiting to be read out and sentence its owner to death.

The woman stood up promptly at two, looking relieved to get out of conversation with the district’s mayor. She stepped up to the microphone and before silence settled over the crowd she started to speak.

“Well then, usually your lovely mayor would make a speech before I do, but this isn’t a usual Reaping Ceremony is it?” The crowd stayed silent, but the woman pressed on. “Of course it isn’t! It’s your first Hunger Games! A joyous event where we will all somberly remember the Dark Days and give thanks to our Capitol for providing for us. And now you all get to join in as well! You must be positively silly with excitement!” Still more silence. This time the woman seemed annoyed but forced a smile to her face and continued. “Of course, you still haven’t been properly introduced to me! I am Lia Mavour, and I will travel with your two tributes to the Capitol where they will compete in the Hunger Games. Who knows, one lucky person standing in this crowd may even win!” There were a few poorly-concealed snorts of incredulous laughter at that. Everyone knew that there wasn’t a chance in hell that either child from District 14 could win. The woman, Lia, took a deep breath before continuing. “As is custom to say, happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor! Now, let’s start the reaping, shall we? As always, ladies first.”

She stuck claw-like fingernails into the jar to her right, rustling the papers around before carefully selecting one. She brought it up and opened it slowly. There was a smile plastered onto her face, looking garish in pastel pink lipstick.

“Lydia Martin!” Lydia clenched her jaw but stood still. Lia tittered, as if they were all too simple to know what to do.  “Please join me on the stage, Miss Martin.”

Lydia took halting steps forward, her head tilted. Scott’s eyes widened as he realized that she was hearing something. He stepped forward, grabbing her hand.

“It’s just the shock, she’s fine,” he explained as three Peacekeepers separated themselves from the group, guns glinting meanicingly.

He lead her to the steps of the stage where she completed the journey herself. As she stepped next to Lia she seemed to be able to shake off whatever she had been listening to. Of course Scott had wanted to know what she had heard, but asking her anything in front of the cameras would have been a death sentence for the both of them.

“Well then, have you anything to say to the people watching Miss Martin?”

Lydia’s mouth moved as if to form a word, but she shook her head no.

“Alright then, now for the gentlemen!” The same fake smile was on Lia’s face.

“Jonathan Moore!”

Scott looked around to find the thirteen year old. He was a wolf, and the only thing keeping his family alive, hunting around the district for rabbits and mice to bring home. His parents couldn’t hold jobs and he had a baby sister who wasn’t even a year old. If he were to die in the games his whole family would go with him.

Scott had seen it been done before in the career districts, although anywhere else it would be suicide. He only had a few moments to make his choice.

He found himself speaking, eyes still on the boy. “I volunteer as tribute.” His head was buzzing, or maybe it was the noise of the crowd. He wasn’t sure.

He walked forwards, not looking at anyone. Once on the stage he stood on the other side of Lia. He tried desperately not to make eye contact with his mother. He didn’t know if he could stop himself from turning if he saw Melissa’s expression.

“District 14,” Lia announced, “Please join me in congratulating our two tributes, who will represent you all in the 74th Hunger Games!” She started to clap, and the crowd was probably supposed to as well. Instead, Scott looked out to a sea of shining eyes, mostly yellow but some blue. They flashed for a few seconds before returning to their normal color. He heard Lydia make a sound like a strangled cough next to him, and looking over he saw that Lia looked like she was about to be sick. He had to hide a smile himself at how terrified she was. Peacekeepers started to step forward, but Lia gave a slight shake of her head and they went back into position. Apparently she didn’t want a werewolf fight during her first reaping.

The mayor stepped up to the microphone to read the Treason Treaty. Nobody really listened to it.  It was long and dull, but it was required. Scott and Lydia were then surrounded by Peacekeepers and ushered into the main hall. It was the nicest building in the district, which wasn’t saying much. It was poorly built and a strong enough storm could probably take down the roof, but it was furnished well and was where all of the government officials worked.

Scott and Lydia were shown into adjacent rooms to say goodbye to their families. The rooms were small, but Scott’s held a couch nicer than anything that he’d ever be able to afford. He sat down, surprised by how soft the fabric was. His mother was shown in not long after and she slumped on the couch next to him, holding him in her arms. After a while she spoke.

“You’re too good.”

Scott sighed, “I had to. His whole family would’ve died.”

“I know.” She abruptly sat up, unclipping the cracked watch that she never took off. It hadn’t worked for a long time, but she still kept it on. She made sure that Scott was really looking at her and understanding her urgency before saying, “You’re allowed to take something into the arena, yeah? Wear this. Your father gave it to me. He was a drunk bastard before he was killed but,” she started to smile, “he loved you.”

Scott gave a small smile back. “Thanks, Mom.”

A Peacekeeper entered the room and signalled that their time was up. They stood and Melissa hugged Scott one last time.

“Come home.”

Scott was escorted from the room a few minutes later and taken to sit in the backseat of a car next to Lydia. They were to drive the short distance to the train. Neither had ever been in a car before. They looked nervously at each other but didn’t speak.

The station was crowded with photographers who used their lenses to see more often than their eyes. Lydia looked shaky so Scott offered her his hand. She took it gratefully, giving him a small smile. They stood tall as they walked onto the train, not wanting to show weakness to the Capitol. Normally they would have been forced to stand outside for more pictures, but the Capitol didn’t want to risk anything in the werewolf district.

Lia showed Scott and Lydia to their rooms on the train. They were nicer than any home in District 14 with running water in private bathrooms, large beds, and small dressing rooms.

“Supper is in an hour. There are clothes in the dressing rooms for you.” Lia told them before walking away, presumably to her own chambers.

“I’m not changing,” Lydia announced to Scott after Lia was out of earshot.

“Neither am I.”

“Well,” she looked him up and down, “we might as well stick together.” She entered her room, leaving Scott to follow. She sat down on the bed, bouncing a bit.

“What’s your strategy for winning the games?” Scott looked up, alarmed.

“Uh… not... die?”

“Great,” Lydia muttered to herself, “Just perfect.”

She focused on Scott again, saying, “I want to work with you. I’ll have the best shot with a werewolf and you’ll have me to tell you when people are going to die.” A glimmer of emotion passed over her face, so quickly that Scott couldn’t tell what it was. “Probably,” she added as an afterthought.

“Um, yeah, that sounds good.” He didn’t know what to say next, but was saved by Lydia deciding to go wash her face in her bathroom. He went into his own room and laid down on the bed. He didn’t intend to fall asleep but an hour later was woken up by Lydia shaking him.

“You’re late. And I am not facing them alone.”

Half asleep, Scott didn’t know where he was at first. When the past few hours had caught up to him, he was left even more confused.

“Them? I thought it was just Lia.”

“Well the other guy from the stage is there too and he looks like he’s about to murder Lia so I suggest you get up and we go eat. Now.”

“Right,” Scott stood up, “Let’s go.”

Lydia stood still, looking at him.

“What?”

“Your hair?”

He ran his hand through it, pressing down where the back fanned up. Lydia rolled her eyes at him but left the room.

They stood in the doorway of the compartment that was the dining room for only a few seconds before Lia noticed them and stood up.

“Oh, come in, come in,” she fluttered around them, “Sit down and eat, you want to be strong for the next few weeks.” She led them to their seats, opposite hers and the man’s. He was scowling at the table.

“Scott, Lydia,” Lia beamed once they were seated, “I would like to introduce your mentor, Derek Hale.”

Lydia’s eyes squinted. “Derek Hale is dead. He was like seven years old when we were invaded and the Peacekeepers took him.” Lia bristled at the word ‘invaded’.

“Well, obviously he’s alive and sitting across from you,” she snapped.

Scott was more willing to accept that Derek was alive than Lydia was. It wouldn’t have been unreasonable for the Capitol to take prisoners. Still, he was confused.

“Okay, but why is he our mentor? It’s not like he’s won the games.”

Lia smiled at him. She was back to being all smiles and movement.

“It was decided that he was the most qualified person from your district to mentor you.”

“What makes you so qualified, _Derek_?” Lydia spoke the name as if she still didn’t believe it was him.

“I was taken prisoner fifteen years ago. Their little werewolf prize. I’ve escaped six times.” Lydia waited for more of an explanation, but Derek had gone back to glaring at his plate.

“Great,” Lydia looked around the table, pursing her lips, “So far the people helping me to survive are a sixteen year old werewolf with no plan and a man who was in prison for most of his life.” She reached over to take a roll from the basket in the center of the table.

“Don’t count on me,” Derek spoke, “I’m just here because it’s better than being experimented on in a dark cell.”

“No. You have to help us. We have no chance,” Lydia’s words were tinged with desperation, although she was trying her hardest to show it.

“Fine. Here’s my advice: The Capitol and everyone involved with it is shit. Even if you survive you’ll always be tied to it. Your best bet is dying in the games.”

He took the basket of bread and left the carriage without another word.

Lydia turned to Scott, looking for support but was interrupted by Lia, catching on at last.

“I’m in charge of two werewolves?” she screeched.

“And a banshee,” Scott added with a lopsided smile.

“No. I didn’t want this. What did I do to deserve this? Feeling faint. Going back to my rooms,” Lia muttered before leaving the same way Derek had.

Lydia and Scott ate the rest of their meal in silence.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not feeling great about this piece, but I'll finish it before starting anything new.  
> Thank you for reading!


	3. Chapter Three

After their meal, Scott and Lydia were lead by Lia into a different compartment on the train. One of the walls was made up entirely of screens, and a straight-backed couch sat across from it.

They sat to watch the other reapings, starting with District 1. Not many tributes stood out to Scott, and he mainly tried to tune the recordings out. The narration was light and witty, as if the commentators weren’t witnessing twenty-three children being sentenced to death. Only one twelve year old was pulled, which was better than other years. It was a little easier for everyone to watch if all of the tributes were older. It was easier not to see your own children in the corpses.

Lydia snorted at the video of District 12, where a boy around their age tripped up the steps to the stage. His mentor, a woman with dirty blonde hair and a haughty demeanor, rolled her eyes at him before grabbing his arm and yanking him up to stand in his place next to his Capitol representative. The female tribute didn’t look at the boy but instead stared above the crowd, head held high. She had no expression on her face.

Lastly, the pair watched their own reaping. Lydia blanched as she heard her name being called and saw herself on the screen, not moving, listening to something that nobody else could hear. Scott reminded himself again to ask her what she had heard. He would ask once they were both alone.

Then Jonathan was reaped. The camera closed in on Scott, his jaw clenched and he watched as he spoke the words that would surely send him to his death. There was something in his voice, something that made it sound stronger than it was, certainly stronger than he had felt.

Lia interrupted the heavy silence. “Heroic. We can work with that.” She nodded as if they were all in one one big secret.

Lydia stood up.

“I’ve seen enough. I’m going to bed.”

Scott looked at her. It was his chance to find out what she had heard.

“Yeah, I’m going too. Long day.” He stood up and stretched, probably overacting but just wanting to get away.

Lia went from businesslike to sickeningly sweet in less than a second.

“Of course, poor dears. Sleep in as late as you want, I’ll make sure that there’s breakfast saved for you.”

Neither bothered to thank her on their way out.

Scott didn’t end up getting any chance to talk to Lydia that night. She walked a few paces ahead of him and turned briskly into her room, ignoring him. He’d wanted to call out to her but feared pissing her off further. He didn’t even know what had set her off that time, but she was known at school for ruining someone if they so much as looked at her the wrong way. She sort of scared him, even though he knew it was silly. He supposed that it would help her in the games. She was ruthless.

Scott didn’t bother putting new clothes on. He fell asleep in what he had been wearing since the reaping, the familiar clothes that his mother had picked out for him. It felt like that morning had been months ago.

When he woke up the room was dark. It felt like he’d been sleeping for hours, but looking around he decided that it must still have been nighttime. He blinked blearily a few times, not knowing what had woken him up. Then he heard it again, a rapping on the door.

“Scott!” Lydia’s voice rang through the thin door. She sounded impatient. It wasn’t the first time she had called his name.

“‘M up,” he called back. She huffed.

“Get dressed. We’re in the tunnels, we’ll be in the Capitol soon.”

The tunnels ran underneath the mountains separating the eastern districts from the Capitol. They were the only way to get in or out. District 14 hadn’t known about them. Until they were conquered they had thought that the mountains were protecting them.

Scott went to the ornate wardrobe in his dressing room for the first time. The first drawer he opened was filled with expensive fabrics with gaudy finishes. A single shirt could’ve bought a year’s worth of food back home. He opened the next, and then the next, finding the same in all of the rest. He emptied out each onto the floor, trying to find at least a new shirt that he could change into. Finally, at the bottom of the last drawer there was an olive green jacket. He put it on over his undershirt and zipped it up. He decided it was better than nothing and didn’t bother to look in the mirror before leaving. He knew how the games worked, sooner or later stylists would find him and play with him until he wouldn’t even be able to recognize himself.

In the corridor Lydia was waiting for him, leaning on the wall next to Derek. Scott was taken aback at their mentor’s appearance. Scott had thought that he wouldn’t see Derek again after he’d declared the night before that he wouldn’t help them.

“What are you doing here?”

Derek looked at him flatly. “Lydia says you’re an alpha.”

Scott stood with his mouth hanging slightly open, not having any idea what was going on..

“I said he was _going to be_ an alpha,” Lydia clarified.

“ _What?_ We haven’t had an alpha since before the district was even settled! How the hell-” Lydia cut him off.

“Or you’re going to die. I’m not sure which.”

Scott was speechless.

“There- There’s a big difference!” He sputtered.

“Either way, apparently I’m trusting two teenagers from the least respected district. So now I’m helping you. I’ve seen the games from the inside, no other mentor has. We’re entering the Capitol now. Go to the windows and wave and be their perfect little puppets and then do everything the stylists tell you to do. Maybe you’ll even earn a few sponsors.”

Lydia looked at him for the first time, surprised.

“But-”

“Do it, or you’ll be dead before even entering the arena.”

Scott wasn’t sure whether Derek meant that he would kill them himself or that they wouldn’t have a chance, but it didn’t really matter. Derek sharply told them to go to the windows again before stalking back off into his rooms, apprehending Lia, who was on her way to harass her two tributes, and telling her to bring him more of the bread from the night before.

Lydia and Scott walked back into the dining compartment. It was lit by one light over the table, and the shadows it casts were almost eerie. If anyone had known they were in there all the lights that could be found would have been brought to them and someone would’ve been there to hear their every word.

Both pulled up chairs to the window, looking at the dark stone wall of the tunnel pass by in a blur. After a nearly unbearable few minutes in silence, just as Scott was about to say something that would probably have been ignored by Lydia, the train started slowing down. More light shone through the windows. They were entering the Capitol.

The city was grand. It was colorful and bright. District 14 was dim and brown and grey. There were shiny cars lined up the wide, paved road, each probably costing more than the home the mayor lived in at the center of the district.

The people crowding the clean paths next to the road started to notice the tribute train and stopped to stare. Scott lifted his hand up in a tentative wave, but Lydia just sat still. After a second Scott understood why. The crowd was made up of the elderly, fat children with rosy cheeks, and adults who had never known just how cold the winter could be when you only had one threadbare blanket and you’re lying next to the gap in the wall and the wind won't stop blowing in long enough for you to fall asleep. The older the Capitol citizens got the more their faces were painted, bright pinks and greens and yellows, like the colors were boosted until they weren’t quite recognizable anymore. It was unnerving. A glimpse of hair that wasn’t dyed a horrifyingly bright color was rare, and those people generally rushed along, not stopping to look at Scott and Lydia who were staring, disgusted, out into the sea of color and wealth.

Lydia recovered before Scott did.

“Smile,” she muttered to him. They weren’t looking good for the Capitol.

They waved until their arms ached and finally they were past the people and the pointing and were rushed off of the train. They were quickly shoved into white rooms in the Remake Center, rooms that had been lit up so brightly Scott’s eyes started to ache. He was told to undress and given a thin white robe.

Three people joined him into the room and flitted around him, plucking and pruning and tittering in their Capitol accents that made them somehow even sound wealthy and ignorant, if that were possible. They shoved him into a basin of warm water, scrubbing him with a rough soap that made what felt like half of his skin come off and turn bright red. They took the hair off of his arms and legs and rubbed a foul smelling lotion into his skin so hard that it stung. Then they went at his hair with scissors and combs and some paste that they used to stick the front up and the back down. Finally they made him take his robe off, circling around him to make sure that they didn’t miss anything.

“Perfect!” one of the three exclaimed, his skin dyed a pink at his head and a blue at his feet, meeting as a soft purple in the middle.

“You’re not ugly anymore,” one of the women said encouragingly, as if feeling as inhuman as Scott did was something to be proud of.

“Come on,” the last woman, fat with orange makeup, pulled the other two out of the room, “let’s get Roben.”

They swooped out of the room, leaving Scott to assume that Roben will be his stylist. He still didn’t have his robe on, but he didn’t mind as much as he would’ve before entering the Capitol. He realized that in their own, disgusting way, his styling team might have been trying to somehow be sincere and help him, but he couldn’t even see them as human. They seemed emotionless, only capable of feeling pre-programmed happiness and excitement. He realized that was how he saw everyone in the Capitol, stupidly happy for no real reason except that their President had told them that they should be.

A woman walked into the room after a few minutes had passed. She had dark blue hair and her lips were stained teal, but otherwise she looked normal. Scott was surprised, and suddenly felt more self conscious of his nakedness.

“Stay still,” she commanded. She walked around him in a slow circle, eyeing him up and down.

When she had finished, she grabbed his robe off of the cold metal table and tossed it to him.

She leaned against the wall, playing with a silver ring pierced into her lower lip.

“We can eat if you want, but it’ll be a meal that’ll make you hate the Capitol even more.” She quirked a smile. “It’s a bit... extravagant.”

Scott hastily put on his robe,

“Yeah, um, I’m good.”

“I’m Roben. I’ve been working with the other tribute’s stylist. We wanted to make sure you and your partner have corresponding outfits.” She leans forward. “Between you and me, we’re planning on being executed for this.”

Seeing Scott’s scared expression, Roben laughed and pitched back against the wall.

“Don’t worry, nobody’s going to come in and drag me away to prison, kicking and screaming. There aren’t any cameras in this room. Something about you being naked. It’s profane here, but in the arena it’s perfectly fine. Oh well.” She stopped a second to take a breath before continuing on.

“It’s your first year in the games. We have to make it special, right?” There was a wicked glint in her eyes.

It was silent for a moment before Roben suddenly asked, “Are you a wolf?”

Scott unconsciously took a step back.

“What?” He didn’t know what to say..

Roben sighed.

“I guess it’s not polite to ask you so bluntly, is it? I just need to know if you’ll be offended by your costume or not. The only person we’re trying to piss off is Snow, so we’re hoping you the other tribute won’t mind.”

“I’m… good with whatever,” Scott told her, trying to sound agreeable but hoping that he wouldn’t be forced into anything too hideous. The parade was the best shot at winning over wealthy watchers of the games, ones who would sponsor their favorite tributes.

Three hours passed and Scott found himself standing next to Lydia in a chariot, waiting to be pulled away by four horses. They were in the basement of the Remake Center, a big stable really, and it was just turning to dusk.

Scott and Lydia were dressed in the outfits that they had worn for the reaping. Lydia was in her lacy green dress, probably something her mother had worn years ago. The hem was fraying and the fabric, probably once bright and lively, was faded into a dull mint. Scott was in a white button-down shirt and the pants he was given to wear when he was working in the less  dangerous parts of the factory. Their hair was wild, as if they’d just woken up after sleeping for days.

Scott had figured out what Roben had meant about annoying President Snow when she was doing his makeup. He wasn’t wearing much at all, but she’d added scars travelling across his face. Scars that looked to be made by claws the size of human hands. Lydia had the same, except hers looked like fresh wounds, with blood still dripping.

They were meant to look like they had been attacked by werewolves.

“See, this isn’t even the best bit,” Roben had explained while finishing the last scar. “District 12 is what’s going to piss off Snow a little. But he’ll get over it, he’ll have to for the games. Then you two come out, and he really gets mad.”

To be honest, Scott was fearing for his life.

In the chariot Lydia leaned into him as if she was feeling dizzy. He looked down, but her face didn’t betray any signs of weakness.

“We’re going to start an uprising, wearing this,” she breathed to him. She wasn’t feeling faint at all, she just needed to look like she wasn’t talking to him.

“They killed half our families and took away our freedom,” he whispered back, as if that justified what they were about to do, what they could possibly lose their lives for. Lydia gave him a small smile before standing upright again. They were in agreement.

Scott looked around at the other tributes, lined up in district order. Roben and the other stylist were talking to a tan-skinned man with gold eyeliner. They were standing next to District 12’s chariot. Scott remembered District 12 was the boy who tripped and the emotionless girl. They were wearing simple black, skintight suits, and flame-colored capes with matching headpieces. The boy was talking to the girl, but she was ignoring him.

The opening music began, booming through the room as massive doors opened, preparing for the parade to start. District 1 rode out, shiny, silver, and adorned with purple jewels. They were the district of luxury. The noise of the crowd surged. Those who didn’t have to compete were already enjoying the show.

One by one the chariots rolled out until only 11, 12, and 14 remained. The man with the gold eyeliner leaned into District 12’s chariot with a torch, setting the capes and headpieces on fire. Lydia gasped next to Scott and clutched at his arm. They both anticipated tortured screaming, but nothing happened. The fire didn’t burn the tributes. Their chariot left, 11’s having gone sometime without notice.

The light hit them just the right way, the fire making shadows flicker on their faces. Scott saw them in the huge screens for a short moment. They looked strong and unafraid.

Finally the last chariot rolled out. It was barely anything compared to the spectacle the crowd had witnessed just moments before, and at first it didn’t get half the reaction. It was relatively quiet until people started to really notice the costumes.

Their rebellion was quieter, but it was just as powerful.

They rode through the Capitol, Scott grabbing Lydia’s hand somewhere in the middle and not letting go. He could hear screams from beside them as people thought it was a romantic gesture. In all honesty, Scott just didn’t know if he could make it through the parade without falling over and Lydia’s hand steadied him.

They didn’t smile or look at the crowd. They looked straight ahead, into the flames. Somehow they had silently come to an agreement that they weren’t going to play on the Capitol’s sympathies. They were going to be strong and powerful and they were probably going to be the first to die in the arena.

All of the chariots pulled into a loop in the Capitol circle, with the last two finding their way under the President’s balcony. Faces were pressed up against the windows of overlooking buildings, straining to get a good look. The President gave a short speech before the national anthem played and the horses started to move again. Scott looked up to the screens to see that the cameras were spending barely any time on the other districts. All eyes were focused on the werewolves and the tributes on fire.

They did one last circle before entering the Training Center, where they would be trapped until the games began.

When they stepped out of their chariots, each feeling shaky to be once again on solid ground, they earned glares from the other tributes. The more attention you got the more likely it was for you to get sponsors, and the tributes from 12 and 14 had stolen the show.

They were lead up to the tower that they would be living in. It had been designed to hold the tributes, and was only used for that short period of time each year. It was tall, with a floor for each district. The buttons in the elevator were numbered accordingly, going straight from 12 to 14.

Scott look down and was immediately disconcerted. The floor was made of a thick glass. Any tribute with a fear of height would be screwed just having to go to and from the Training Center.

Only Lia joined Scott and Lydia in the elevator. The last Scott had seen Derek was on the train. Lia babbled on about how “perfectly magnificent” they had been in the parade and how “everyone would sponsor them now!” but Scott wasn’t listening, and from what he could tell Lydia wasn’t either. She seemed to be deep in thought, and didn’t even notice when they stopped moving and the doors slid open to let them out. Lia showed them to their quarters, equipped with more technology than was in their entire district. Scott’s shower alone probably had more advanced equipment than the factory he worked in.

They were supposed to eat dinner together, but Derek couldn’t be found and when Lia checked in on Roben and they other stylist they were high in their rooms, crowing about what a victory the parade had been. She instead found her tributes in the main sitting room and showed both the mouthpiece to speak their order into. They were told to eat in their rooms for the first night.

Lydia turned to go after Lia did but Scott stopped her.

“D’you want to eat in my room with me?”

Lydia sighed and Scott could tell that she knew that his offer was about more than just eating arrangements. He wanted to talk to her.

“Since we’re on the top floor we have access to the roof. I’ll meet you up there.” With that she stalked into her rooms. Scott didn’t know how she knew about the roof. but entered his own chambers to ask for chicken and potatoes. It was a rare meal in the district that his mother traded herbs for on holidays, and in the Capitol it would undoubtedly have fifteen different sauces and spices on it, but Scott wanted something that would remind him of home.

When he brought his meal up to the roof Lydia was sitting on ground, waiting for him. He sat down next to her, and they ate in silence for a few moments before he gathered the courage to speak.  The wind whipping around their heads would prevent anyone else from hearing their conversation. Scott figured it was the reason that Lydia had suggested the location.

“What did you hear?” he asked her softly, as if afraid to scare her away. Lydia stopped eating and her eyes glazed over into a faraway look, as if she were seeing into another world completely.

“I… I don’t know. Nothing for sure.”

She trailed off into silence, but Scott repeated himself, more insistently this time, but still not loud enough to be overheard.

“What did you hear?”

“Just one word…” She trailed off, thinking a moment before starting again. “A name. Allison.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I skipped posting a chapter last week, I just couldn't find it in me to write.  
> Next week's chapter will be a little different. It will be shorter, and told from multiple points of view instead of just Scott's.  
> Thank you for reading!


	4. Interviews

The interviews are before training this year. Probably because District 14 is joining us. My chances of surviving are less. I’m not a career but I can shoot. I might still have a chance. But only if I get a good score and Kate can convince someone to sponsor a tribute from District 12.

I’ve been sitting, back straight and ankles crossed, through all of the other tributes except for Stiles. Stilinski. Not Stiles. I’ve been sitting through all of the other tributes except for Stilinski.

My name is called, and I stand up, glittering. Cinna’s put me in a dress made of jewels. I shine in reds, oranges, whites, and faint blues. I’m on fire again, and I might be even more radiant than I was in the parade. At the very least I’ll draw some attention.

He starts me off with an easy question. He asks me what I’ve been most impressed with since I’ve arrived at the Capitol and my mind goes blank. I don’t know what to say and my mouth is dry. I look frantically over at the other tributes, sitting and looking out at the audience. As I glance at Stiles I see he’s staring at the redheaded girl from 14. He’s already making attachments. He’s going to be one of the first to die. I look to the girl’s left and see her partner. He has dark hair and brown eyes and his jawbone is uneven and he gives me a little nod, as if supporting me or something. It was probably just a trick of the light. They’re bright and hot, shining right in my eyes.

Only a few seconds have passed by the time I give my answer. Something about the architecture. I’m supposed to look smart and strong. Aunt Kate says my beauty will do the rest, and I make an effort to smile at the crowd more, especially at the old fat men sitting in the first row.

I give generic answers to everything, but I show that I’m educated about the Capitol. The last question Caesar asks me is my strategy.

I give the audience a teasing smile as I reply, “Telling you would ruin all the fun, wouldn’t it?”

Caesar gives me a small chuckle and the buzzer goes off.

I stare into the crowd as I walk back to my seat, my dress glinting in the lights.

:/:\:/:\:

Normally I would be having a panic attack right now. I did when Effie called my name. The Capitol pumped me full of drugs so I wouldn’t while I was in the arena, though. I guess it’s not interesting enough if I stay in one place hyperventilating until I die or something.

When Dad came to say goodbye to me in the Justice Building he had to deal with calming me down. It was probably a shitty last memory to have of me, but I hold on to the thought of him as Allison sits down next to me and I’m called to be interviewed by Caeser.

“Mr. Stilinski,” he greets.

I shake his hand with a smile, telling him to call me Stiles. I say some things about working in the mines and make a few jokes and the audience laughs, thinking I’m way funnier than I really am. That’s what Kate wanted me to be. She rolled her eyes, but agreed likeable and fun was the best angle for me. I’m just glad she chose something easy, other years tributes have to act completely different from themselves.

Most of the interview passes by in a daze. Whatever they’re giving me must not be strong enough. I smile in all the right places and say something about the food, and we go off a bit from there. We’re still talking about the roast turkey when the buzzer goes off and Caesar gestures for be to go back to my seat.

Not the best interview I’ve ever been forced to watch, but I’m not going to be seen as a threat either. Maybe I’ll be able to die less gruesomely. Dad already had to watch Mom die, I want to make this as easy for him as possible. The strawberry-blonde girl next to me gets up as I realize. Fuck. Kate’s going to kill me for not mentioning my dad. I was supposed to use him for sympathy.

I tune out the last two interviews and end up deciding that I’m glad I didn’t.

:/:\:/:\:

I have a 3.85% chance of surviving and making it home. Well, that is without taking into account anything else. The careers, the crippled boy from 10, the boy who tripped on the way to the stage, and the costumes we were in for the parade. There are so many different variables to factor in, my head is whirling with the math as my name is called.

I want to play with the fabric of my dress but I won’t let myself touch it. It’s too beautiful and I don’t want to taint it, and I know I’m vain for thinking so but it’s strong and reminds me of home and it’s everything I want to be. The top is my reaping dress, a pale green lace with a scalloped collar. The skirt is long and heavy, contrasting sharply with the bodice. It reaches down to skim the floor as I walk. Cia, my head stylist, altered it seconds before I left so that it would be the perfect length. It’s a deeper, darker black than I have ever seen. A funeral skirt. Lia wanted me to look like I’m from the Capitol, but Cia didn’t listen, and I’m thankful.

She also decided on my angle, and I hate it. The girl from District 1 was sexy, District 5 mysterious, District 11 cute and innocent. I’m Capitol. I’m informed and not a district girl to be pitied. My answers will be sophisticated and I will hate every single person in the crowd for making me play this fucked up part so that they can applaud as I die. And I will smile, I can’t forget smiling. And not the one that stretches over my teeth in a grimace, a real smile. I’m just glad Lia didn’t think of shoes. I saw District 12’s girl in the elevator. Her feet were bruised from wearing high heels, and she looked ready to kill someone. I was fortunate enough to be allowed to stick to black flats.

I stand as my name is called, and step over towards Caesar. He shakes my hand and compliments my dress. He hides it well but it makes him uncomfortable. Any wrong word and he’ll be in trouble, maybe even as dead as the rest of us are.

I have three minutes to impress the Capitol. I’m not going to act like them, to hell with what Lia wants.

“You look marvellous as you have each time we’ve seen you, Lydia.” I accept the compliment, but am wary of what will come next.

“Did you have an interest in fashion before you got here? Or was it a, ah, newfound hobby?”

I put on my best smile.

“Honestly, I didn’t have much time for it at home. I was either at school or helping my mother. “

“Yes, well, I’m sure you must be thrilled to have time to yourself here, then!” He’s twisting my words to make me sound better for the crowd, and I don’t know whether I’m grateful or angry. I don’t give him the response he wants, I just smile at him the way Lia told me not to, my lips tight against my teeth.

He moves on.

“Speaking of your district, what was life like there for you? I’m sure you must’ve had a boyfriend, as pretty as you are.”

I’ve always hated the word pretty. It’s like a watered down version of the word beautiful. Not even watered down, dulled down. Like you’re not quite beautiful, but you’re not ugly either. You’re pretty. You can sit on a shelf for people to admire you, but that’s it.

“Nothing too serious, nothing worth mentioning.” I’m being boring and I know it.

Caesar gasps as if scandalized.

“Lydia Martin, a flirt?” The crowd titters.

I force a smile again, practically speaking through my teeth. “I don’t think so. I really only dated because I thought that it would make my family happy.”

There’s barely a moment’s pause before Caesar starts speaking again.

“A martyr, then?”

I laugh self-deprecatingly, and I don’t know if it’s sincere or not.

“No, I wish I could call myself that, but I’m not selfless enough. I’m more of a… I’m lucky enough to be caught in circumstances that show me in a good light.”

I hear a buzz, and my three minutes are up. Caesar takes a step back and extends his arm, presenting me to the crowd.

“Lydia Martin, the humble girl from District 14!” It’s not the best title, but it’ll work.

I sit down as Scott stands up.

:/:\:/:\:

Lia’s done all my training since Derek was nowhere to be found. She wants me to be some heroic and strong, masculine but sensitive guy. I shrug off her training as I walk up to Caesar. I think that Lydia’s interview went perfectly, but I can already hear Lia in the back of my mind telling her that she made herself too human, she had to be an easier character to understand. I like how Lydia did it, but the Capitol won’t.

Caesar greets me, and I discreetly wipe my palm on my shirt, the same I wore for the reaping, before shaking his hand. I have my mom’s watch in my pocket and I hold onto it.

“Well, Scott, I’m going to cut right to what everybody wants to hear: Why did you do it?”

I’m confused, and I ask him what he means.

“You volunteered for that boy, you risked your life for him. Why?”

I can’t tell him the real reason. The Capitol doesn’t want to know that we’re starving and that killing him would’ve been killing a young couple and a baby as well. They want to hear that I loved him, that he was like a brother to me, that I’d rather die than see a world without him. I don’t want to tell them that.

“If he died his baby sister would’ve too. He’s the only one able to bring food home.” I don’t want to cross the line too much, but I’m not going to lie either.

It’s not the answer that Caesar is expecting. Most tributes wouldn’t admit to what their lives were really like in the district, it wouldn’t earn them sponsors. Still, there’s barely a moment’s hesitation before he asks another question. Something about my job back home, and the answer I give him isn’t memorable. He knows that I’ve said everything the audience would want to hear, and he’s just wasting time until my three minutes are up. He asks if I’m dating someone and when I say no he looks out at the crowd, saying something about District 14 being full of good-looking singles. I hate it. My buzzer goes off and I’m saved, and the interviews are done. I don’t know if I’ve done well or not, but I’m just happy that it’s over.

I rewatch the interviews later that night. I sound clueless and stupid and sort of brave and maybe even strong. It’s what Lia wanted, and a note comes on the tray when I order a snack.

 _nice job  
_ _\- Derek_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each section was supposed to be only 300-400 words long but then Lydia's happened.  
> Thank you for reading!


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